The Blackness of Our Souls.

And submersion.

I am here. I am about. I know.

I am not here to adhere to any algorithm. I am here to transcend lukewarm gray.

I am here to administer black.

Black isn't tangible. Black goes on forever. Black is beyond your conception. Black is truth. Black, along with its twin white, are the fore-bearers of reality.

But you and your stumbling stones know only ash.

You know ash and dust, the cold and the clones. And you are ready to fall and flee from that which would fill your hollow bones.

Fear not, for the Composer and Conductor knew blood. Stories of instability and violent irritabilities were marked upon his hands. He knew well of the dance of despair upon desert sands. He knew helpless hours in which your juggernaut punctured his heart.

Be quiet you spitting fool. Your grey world is not the final answer, it is merely a place of indecision where every vaccine is radical.

Be aware world, of the blackness in their hearts. The utter mystery of the darkness in her eyes. No, it is not just the pain which you can only ignore, it is the uncomfortable reality of her soul. The very fact that it is deep as the ocean and as beautiful as Bach. She carries that numinous awe in the black of night. And you fucking know it. Be aware that you ignore her cry, and what you neglect you shall be measured by.

My mind, encouraged with a balance, heard the secret of my own soul. In a world full of erased men and blotted ambition, white walls and skittish hearts, the frankness of black seems to be to startling for them to handle.

But its that very frankness that keeps us human!

The secret of my soul burns on my lips and on my hands.

We the thirsty thirst. The child of the waterless is now a king. We the sinking sink. The one who is risen is king. You have suffered enough alone. It is time to suffer with him. It is time to suffer with me. We have a king who rejoices, but we also have a king who weeps. Let us weep, but let us never weep alone.

Black as night, and hidden from sight, he keeps me in his arms, despite the thorns that harm.

That is the secret of my soul. You may treasure it, or throw it away.

Listen to Wasted On The Youth by The Gay Blades

Swoon

I drop you.

Instead of hitting the water. You hit the concrete. You are falling for an eternity. You are falling still. Not towards the water, but towards the concrete.

I shatter when you hit the ground. You bounce off. I shatter and you bruise.
The subject of wounds and spilt blood are like a black hole that my heart can't escape from.
And I cry. And I cry out:
Oh save me from black hole.

Oh would you save us from this black hole.

We ask how to avoid the fight and they all take flight.
We the freaks, the scoundrels, the shakers, the burners-never asked for cutting to be an only quick fix.

They wont help us, because they cant stop us. They cant catch you.
And I think about you falling all night long. And hearing your fucking voice only pulls me deeper still.

Your falling and I can't move fast enough to catch you. I'm falling and everyone is watching me. Just watching waiting for the climax, waiting for me to finally shatter.

All the children claim to be loyal to the bone. But I don't hear their voices when I go home.
But I'm not surprised that the world is only made of liars.

When blood and gore is all you see, do you in fact miss reality?

When all you have are prayers and imaginary fires, are you missing reality?

The Protector of his Eyes.

Draped in his yellow cloak, he peers out into the utter black with his burning eyes. The utter black stares back into the portals, impatiently waiting for the command to attack. They lie under the grass, void of form, just jealous darkness. They want his eyes.

He puts on his combat boots. He opens the kitchen door, and exits to Ringo, and picks up the bat. He looks up to the tattered sky, and wonders if they'll ever get him. He wonders if it will be the lightning, the weight of Psalv-Muron or the darkness that follows.

The gashes in his hands are deepening. Sometimes, when hes working, they rip open and blood spills lightly to the floor. And thats when that taste, the very taste of arx-ignidermis comes and resides upon his tongue. As we speak, and no matter what he eats, the taste will not leave. He hungers for the world. As he is reminded of his hunger, he clenches his hands, the wounds open, and blood gushes from his fists.

In his pouch are the last of the bandages left to him by the Champ of Angels. About a month ago, they finished there journey together. The Champ of Angels had his own destiny to keep, and as much as the torchbearer would like to follow, The Champ of Angels travels to a place where the Torchbearers foolishness is not allowed.

Honestly it saddens him, but he knew all along that day would come. He just wished it wasn't so soon. He wishes he could just be the Champ's shadow, for the monsters did not attack when they were together. They attack now.

He looks over his shoulder and pulls the bat to his breast. He knows they won't kill him, they never said they would, but they suck away at his soul.

They aim to pry from his hands the eternal anchor. Rearrange his face into that of a blinded bastard scientist. His eyes always search for light, but do not remember what it is. His hands grope for his torch but find only the oil which he is drowning in. Thick black oil. He shakes at the thought of their plans.

The lightning sun sets before him. The stars dissapear behind ashen clouds. His face is wet. It is raining. He was chasing that starlight, but now the waters rising.

Where shall he go.

He goes home. He goes to Blackbird, a decorated child of the King of Day. A noble princess. Holding her in his arms lets everything fade away. The thick clouds start snowing. He is appalled. He asks how. She had been talking to the King, learning his language. The tongue of her ancestors. She could not treat the torch-bearers wounds, so she went to the architect of her beloved puppet. She thought herself to be overtaken by the summonia, and not healthy enough to be in the presence of the King. She took her lifeless legs and leapt the gap between her logic and my fairy tale. She could not recognize the king, for her blood-tyrant, should of been an ambassador. My kind King stepped down to take her hands, and she gave her heart. The most noble King of Day, my Eternal Lover, heard her call. She brings great pride. The Magnificent brings pure adoration.

The white snow casts out their black hearts. He takes a sigh of relief, for he can keep his burning eyes another day. He holds the hand of a princess.

Oh, Jesus. THANK YOU FOR BLACKBIRD!!! Thank you for the sun. You are so lovely.

Listen to Push Away by Versant

The Unrelenting Saint Lucia and The mysterious Superman

My gentle feet lift off the ground. My eyes are shut, I feel nothing but the warm wind fawning on my naked body. Quietly, I hear my very own serenade playing as ambiance in the background. This good life, is unknown to me. As the children of war explained to me, I was actually born on Ringo (though I deny it). The ash and dirt of this glass wasteland is the home of my blackened heart. All these smokers and sufferers kept me hidden amongst heroes they expected to never rise again. The Children of War thought differently.

Do me a favor, listen to me Sweet Forest. Forget all you know. Just follow my lead. Forget the asylum of Sound. Be quiet. Forget the touch of Demons. Be still. Forget your conceptions of just how fucked up it could get. Be at peace. Listen.

Saint Lucia, would not relent. She kept on fighting the Wolf of Impurity. He destroyed her, he took her eyes, he took her life, he took her father. Good soul, she would not relent. Do you understand what that martyr stood for? For the God given right of her purity. She saw that it was evident that the most noble King of Day could be heard with a heart pure. She knew the sweetness of his voice. She understood that it doesn't have to be a violent world. The most noble King of Day took her burdens and Aslan ripped the Wolf of Impurity apart.

The Children of War would not relent. Persistent paranoia plagued me from the inside. I felt betrayed by the Blood Tyrants. I trusted them. They cursed my name. Blackbird didn't believe me. I was losing touch.

The chorus had told me I was something more. They gave me a new weird hope. Like I was really something special. Something to sing about.

And this world. This fucking world. Took that dream and held it crumpled in its dirty hands. Shook my head and said that my heart was what they could never accept. That Impure Wolf, pumped my body with adrenaline. And I bled till I couldn't see God.

My eyes perceived everything WRONG. Smoke rose from the pit where my eye once was, and I cried like a girl when that monster plucked the ball from its socket. My mother took me to the hospital, where the doctors took control. They told me dance, bribed me sing, I told them to leave, but held me close and rocked me till I grew soft.

A specialist, A Saint of Water, The Valiant Patron of Aslan came mounted upon her brilliant steed. I lifted my head from my withering frame, to blast out her soul with the fiery rage of my eyes. Without being phased, she spoke right to that poisoness thorned vine that strangled my ego. She spoke the simple truth, cause she knew Aslan. She in fact adored Aslan, with a little girls heart. She placed healing water upon my hands and mind so that I could have the victory of baptism. This of course infuriated my enemies. That dark wolf and his members sought out to destroy her, but the Children of War would not have it. That enemy has no place our hospitals. They only come to destroy...

As I dove beneath the waves, she met me there, before my lungs could fill. I swam despairingly, in order to retreat from reality. I sought to return to my womb. The comfortable den of mistrust and insanity...

It was like a cat picking up a kitten by his neck. I heard the sweet voice of Jesus. The most noble King of Day pulled us up. His hands were always upon me, quick to hold me. Being in his arms, his strong protecting arms, I wept. He had me, and he wasn't about to let me go. He brushed my hair, he adored me. I was just a child then. I was just being alive in his love. And then to Aslan. He held me up to Aslan. What can I say about Aslan? He is MOST magnificent. MOST glorious. I could do nothing but weep uncontrollably in his presence.

While I was up there, things happened that I was unaware of. My torch, was lit anew. My cape, was replaced. Aslan tore that dirty wolf from my spirit. And devoured him.

Devoured Him. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah.

I recieved my emblem.

So here I am. Standing with the words of my Holy Father in front of the Children of War. I begin to fly.

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I am at war.

Do you see who they want you see?

I see that predestined plans and my incomprehensibly invisible master holds my little answers. Someone understands, but I'm still waiting, cause they said they loved me.

Paranoid pains twist under my neck and burn deep into my cheeks. Naivety laughs at me as I beg for wisdom and understanding.

Why Lord? Why am I such a fool? Why am I lame?

I answer the door. I greet the stranger with two hands. Will he let the light in? Will he come and tell me how?

Will he save my soul?

My God! You are a foreigner! You were cast out to sea, to retrieve gems of validation and true hope. The wolf came and granted me comfort in your absence. I said no. By hell he's the devil. He plays the cassettes constantly in my ear. I still scream, he is upon me. He tears his claws ripping the blood from my soul, leaving a rotten black coat. My evil epidermis latches onto me but never upholds my body.

I hold onto my torch, an engagement gift. I am helpless without it. It is but a small reminder of the ETERNAL SUN. Tonight my torch is dim. Is it my spirit that fuels the torch or his?

That question burns. Does the stranger know?

Foreigner? Have you met the Juggernaut? The wolf grew sick of my resistance, so he strung together a plot, an ambush if you will. I rest my heart and lungs and pull over to refuel. I attempted to step out of the fray and frame the colors and shapes into a more fitting fashion. This was not to happen. He was there. He was waiting, and had forecasted my retreat.

The juggernaut is what a Superman would be void of the Eternal Sun. This is why he terrifies me so. My rapier of brilliant passion and the abuser's assailant zweilhandler have no effect against his might. I am beaten blunt till I meet the enormity of madness. He reached into the void you left, I choking with his hand down my mouth. The chaos of your absence was extracted from its prison and put into battle with the little power I have to reason. I was driven at once into hysterical convulsions and black holes of twisted compulsion.

Oh GREAT GOD! Blackbird was with me as he came upon me a second time. Her tender hand was placed to heal me and what horror! I thought to take it and break it. My sweet Blackbird!

Stranger, wake me up inside. Tell me theres a reason, to take another step, to get up off my knees and, follow this path of most resistance. I know my nose bleeds, I know my heart skips more beats than it should. I have no answer for how I would have true victory over the terror of the adversary; and God, I have no idea on how I could possibly retreat! Oh most noble Prince of Day! They plot my demise. They pollute my soul! And my soul stays silent, unable to move in an earthquake.

I am unable to move in an earthquake. Only the fire of my torch keeps me unfrozen in this disheartening terrain. I need my torch, for I fear I am at war.

I am at war. And that realization is long overdue.

Lord, have victory. I find myself tapping my foot to the ticking of a timebomb. I find myself lighting candles to overpower the smell of the cyanide in my food. I find that desperate flight is a frequent use of my time. I long for the Joy of the Lord, and perhaps to be understood, but most dearly, a sanctuary in which I am safe. The inequity of this impossible situation enrages me, but what can I do, for it is just food for him. Be kind to me Lord. I know this challenge should belong to a man with a better soul, but you sent me instead. I know that it is your fire which saves me, so I send this ever-desperate plea to touch your heart. Savior, I know your name.

Savages and Saints

A poor young girl climbs the broken steps of a stranger’s house, just looking for some food to stop the constant pangs of starvation. She’s just needs some water cause she’s choking. She just needs some relief. God look, girl needs some relief.

The poor young girl climbs upon the table, and she finds herself some porridge. She searches for a bed, and finds herself a stranger’s bed. She sleeps and is awoken. The strangers are home; they have readied their teeth and claws.

Baby if you weren’t sure, the world is all teeth and claws.

The world is all teeth and claws and I need some food. I need some light, to see how bright things can be. I need the sanctuary of brothers in arms. The clarity of Day eludes my soul.

I have dealt my cards, I took on the world and the world took on me.

He was angry (will he always be?) that I took potential for my establishment and burned it with the pain.

Yeah, I feel the heat. I feel the impulse to hide my face, cause I don’t know if I am safe. The pressure of an ocean of tears and sweat, twist my focus into panic. Oh Lord, if only they knew, I am panicked. Really and honestly, Im afraid of everyone.

They ask when I’m gonna sort it out.

Gotta have the drugs to sort it out.

Gotta have the time to sort it out.

Gotta have the fuckin resolve to sort it out.

Gotta write it all down.

Write all their advice down.

Gotta remember their pain so I don’t endure.

Don’t wanna endure.

I’m gonna endure.

Angry man, come to me, sit with me, and we will talk about the crimes against you. Baby its real simple, I cant change anyone, but of course I will listen. I will listen and get the full story despite the fact its not what I want to hear. Ask yourself, should we, are we to ask for what we want to hear?

The nature of the world it not one made for me, not made to stick my sloppy tongue and all the counter points it conceives into the delicate balance of others lives. So I bite it. And I just validate and affirm that they were never crazy for feeling that way. Cause its all wilderness, and Ive found them all to be savages who want to be saints. Old men with cold hearts too babe. They’re all the same. They’re all afraid of the wilderness. I’m gonna walk back into the wilderness.

We went into the dark, we chose to ignite the unknown. Those demons have no place here, do they? So lets take all of their words and melt them down. Do you see how they fall into nothing before the feet of the King of Day?

I shave my beard. I cut my hair. I’m gonna burn all my gold. Im gonna scream until the sun sets. Im gonna bleed until I get old. Teeth and Claws greet me when my legs fail me. So, I’ll tell them stories of my invincibility while I slowly fall before insanity. I spend every night with fire in my eyes and I sink further into the gasoline.

They choose to draw back their hands. This is what they choose. Their bitter and cold hearts deceive the notions and intentions of their souls. They scream in agony at the sight of defeat.

I challenge them to look defeat into the eye. They whimper. They cower behind defense mechanisms and blame and impossibilities and their fucking unalienable rights.

Honestly, I grow sick at their cowardice. I grow sick with man.

But I am not here to be a hypocrite. Therefore, I will listen to whatever you have to say, be it good or bad, righteous or evil.

Come quickly King of Day, so that they do not snatch me up. We have no home, we have no food. Show me how to love my enemies. Show me how to soften my heart. Show to be me a man of my word. Show me your hand in the dark.

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Sweetest Song to my Blackbird

Put on your best shirt. I wanna see that magic tonight. I know the valley of darkness holds the apple of your eye. But see look here. Here is his staff. Here is his Rod.

Pretending nothing is wrong. Keep a sly smile in your pocket just in case. In your bag, you keep a list of compulsions you never knew the reasons to. Uncommitted to Gods glorious commission. You are held up by a ghost.

Oh, sweet Blackbird. You were stabbed in the back. You can never see your wound with your naked eye.

Monday night. I put my arm around my girl. I leap to show you whatever I saw. I was lookin for the heart and destiny of our Saint Valentine. Neon lights and enough coffee to drive a man crazy. A girl cries what she wishes was her last tear. She knows its not.

Oh sweet Blackbird. You know I'm gonna find the time to catch your hand. Did I not forgive you the moment you confessed?

Faith in me you say? Yes, have faith in me, but what I want is truer and bluer joy and a brighter Day. But am I truth? Am I the most noble King of Day?

There is a gem. The gem is your most precious possession. All your security, all your ambition, all your future, all your love, all your pain, all your secrets, all your vulnerabilities, all your fears, and the very nature of your life. You treasure this gem.

Take moment to close your eyes. Take a good look at your most precious possession.

You have a challenge. Your challenge is to give the gem away. But to whom? To what? You can read till your dead with the answer to the question. But you and I know a secret, don't we?

We know the truth, don't we?

This is why we rejoice in what we know.

We know where to put the gem.

We know man can hurt us. We know the things of this world are as temporary as dreams.

As carriers of truth, we are called not just to give the gem, but to give the gem to the most noble King of Day. Who hands it over to Aslan. He holds it in his unconquerable and immortal kingdom. He always valued, and protected, and held your gem as a most noble star.

You gave me the gem. I adore your gem, understand that it is sacred. But I fail you. I can not find a place in my brokenness to hold your gem so high. This is not my design, dearest love. My gem, is not yours darling. Our love is immortal, but our romance is merely mortal.

True unrequited joy, is when your gem, your most sacred possession, is held by our Eternal Lover.

I am merely a willing agent of romance. Romanced first by my King. Held in the darkness by my King.

In darkness, I do not merely mean in the shadow. He holds you in your midst of your Sommonia. He holds me as I look upon Psalv-Muron. I call his name in the middle of the night when the demons come. When you look at yours scars. When the blood and tears pour. When the tyranny of your thoughts crush your vulnerable heart. He is no less than God Almighty. And he is there despite your inability to process surrender.

I am, in comparrison, nothing.

Give him your gem.

I love you dearest Blackbird.